


There He Goes Again

by superagentwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Derek Hale Can't Cook, Hilarity Ensues, M/M, Short One Shot, Stiles Cooks, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Freaking every time you cook you set off the smoke alarm so you know what I’m just going to teach you how to cook."<br/>-<br/>Derek falls head over heels for the guy in the dorm next door. Unfortunately, the first time they meet is the fifteenth time Derek burns his food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There He Goes Again

It's been a long week.

It had started with a Pop Quiz, continued with almost no gas in the tank, meandered along a terrible WiFi connection, and finally devolved into the current mess in the kitchen.

Derek stares at the pot in the sink, vaguely wondering how it came to this. The smoke in his apartment is fairly disgusting and the alarm is chirping insistently. _I'll bet the Housing Office has my number on speed dial,_ Derek thinks to himself as he scrubs a hand tiredly over his face.

There's a sudden knock at the door and he sighs, preparing to face Isaac's arched eyebrows. The kid is barely a freshman and he seems to take great pleasure in Derek's continual cooking failures. Derek opens the door, a retort on his lips, and then he stops.

It isn't Isaac.

The guy standing at the door has dark, messy hair and moles sprinkled over his pale skin. His eyes are honey-gold and a wide, expressive mouth is twisted in exasperation. Derek considers him for a moment and notes the way his heart does a funny heart-attack flip.

_Oh, god. I like him._

"Freaking _every_ time you cook you set off the smoke alarm so you know what I’m just going to teach you how to cook," The guy says, arms uncrossing from where they've been positioned in front of his chest.

The guy briskly enters, sliding easily past Derek, who can't do anything but stare. The guy looks like he's just woken up, messy hair complimented by slouchy sweatpants and a thin grey shirt that hangs low over his collarbone. Which is gorgeous.

"Um," Derek starts, turning on his heel, but before he can finish his phone rings insistently. "Yeah?"

"Derek. You're not dead," Isaac drawls, and Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply.

"No. No, I'm not-," Derek replies, distracted as the mystery man effortlessly lifts a chair with one hand to place it beneath the smoke alarm.

"Okay. So I'm assuming-," Isaac begins, but Derek doesn't hear the end of his question because the guy does _something_ and then the alarm just _stops_.

 _Oh, god. I'm so screwed,_ Derek thinks to himself, feeling heat rise to his face as he gapes at the skin exposed when the intruder's shirt rides up.

"Wait," Isaac says over the phone, and Derek coughs, turning quickly as the guy starts to climb off the chair. "What did you do?"

Derek barely opens his mouth when his surprise guest grabs the phone away, head tilted to hold it in place as he puts the chair back in the living area.

"Hey, Isaac. I've got it," the guy says and he briefly rolls his eyes before hanging up. "Jeesh. What a punk."

Derek involuntarily snorts because it's true and the guy looks over, eyes merry and bright like sunlight. Derek feels his heart hop into his throat again.

"Um. So...," Derek starts, and he can already feel heat seeping into his face like poison. _How the hell do you say 'you're hot what's your name' in normal language?_

"Stiles," the guy says, extending a hand, and Derek nods, feeling a bit ridiculous. Stiles looks contrite for a minute and Derek is gifted with the sight of a beautifully rosy blush flowering on Stiles' cheeks. "I'm sorry for...,"

"Oh. No- _no_!" Derek exclaims, maybe a bit too enthusiastically because Stiles blinks, looking at Derek oddly. "I mean- _I'm_ sorry. It...must be pretty shitty living next to the guy that burns his food all the time."

"You really _do_ ," Stiles says, laughing, and he makes it so easy to laugh along. "Anyways, I figured that since most of my classes are done with, I can help y- oooooohhhh," Stiles cuts himself off, wincing as he looks down at the sink.

"I...have no idea what happened," Derek says blankly, completely serious, and Stiles _snorts_ with laughter. It makes Derek smile.

"No, no- it's okay, really," Stiles manages, gasping for breath as he wipes tears from his eyes. "I'll just...clean up a bit."

Derek nods, offering assistance, but Stiles gives him a look that clearly says _you are a menace to the kitchen._ Five minutes later, the pan is miraculously clean and Stiles is opening the fridge.

"What were you.... _trying_ to make?"

"Um...eggs," Derek manages, temporarily caught off guard by a wet spot on Stiles' shirt that sticks to his stomach. He can't stop staring. _Stop staring, Derek. STOP._

"O-kaaay," Stiles replies, wincing. "Well...let's start with the basics, then. Eggs."

"You know, you don't have to-,"

"Believe me, it's in  _both_ our best interests," Stiles replies, and he _giggles_ and Derek dies a little bit inside. "So do you learn by example, or do you prefer the hands-on approach?"

"I, uh...hands-on?" Derek winces at himself, hoping to God that Stiles doesn't think he's stupid.

"All right. Time to get crackin'," Stiles wiggles his eyebrows and Derek chokes on his laughter, nearly dropping the mixing bowl he'd just pulled from the cabinet.

"So...eggs," Derek says, furtively glancing at Stiles. They boy grins, twirling a spatula like some sort of maestro as he nods encouragingly. Derek grabs the carton from the fridge, trying desperately not to drop it. He takes a couple of eggs out and is about to crack them when he's suddenly stopped.

"Whoa, wait-," Stiles begins, laughing, and his slim fingers still Derek's hand, encircling his wrist. Derek _really_ hopes Stiles can't feel his pulse. "Here, watch."

Derek swallows a bit too hard as he watches Stiles' hand gently lift an egg, tapping it against the edge of the counter.

"See- try and get it in the same spot. Two usually does the trick. Make sure you use the edge- it's easier that way."

"Yeah," Derek says quickly as Stiles watches him expectantly. He hesitantly lifts an egg, glancing at Stiles before tapping it twice.

"Okay. When you mix them, make sure that it looks pretty uniform- otherwise you'll get those gross white bits mixed in."

"Eurgh," Derek involuntarily mutters, shuddering at the mental image. Stiles grins and Derek almost drops the fork he's using to mix.

"I hate it when I get eggs at a restaurant and they have egg white bits," Stiles laughs, and Derek chuckles, nodding.

"I feel a bit hypocritical when I complain, though," Derek winces, and Stiles snorts.

"We'll take care of that in no time."

Stiles is pretty much the best coach Derek has ever had. Stiles is patient, descriptive, and generally cheery. He explains why Derek should use butter or oil in the pan and explains how it's always smart to check the pan's heat before pouring the eggs in. Somehow Derek understands, knows that he'll remember Stiles' advice forever because now he understands the _reasons_. It's fantastic.

"There you go!" Stiles cheers, and his elation is infectious. Derek grins at he stares down at the plate of scrambled eggs and then his stomach rumbles and he can't stop the red he feels rushing to his ears. Stiles laughs.

"I'll let you eat," Stiles grins, and he claps Derek's shoulder before walking to the door. Derek doesn't want to let him go, though, and he turns, mouth opening on its own.

"You can- stay, for breakfast. If you want," Derek adds, blinking a bit too much as Stiles watches him, head tilted.

"Sure," Stiles says, smiling widely, and Derek feels his cheeks burn as he grins like an idiot.

Derek gets the feeling he'll be seeing a lot of Stiles in the future.


End file.
